


darling, it's only an interlude.

by orphan_account



Series: war au's [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Easy Company - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Eren's like a goddamn constellation.</em>
</p><p>And Levi was always too fond of gazing at stars. </p><p>—</p><p>
  <em>'I'll be comin' home. Real soon.'</em>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	darling, it's only an interlude.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Notes:
> 
> The blockquoted text is from "Stockholm Syndrome Interlude," from the album blink-182 in which an actress reads off WW2 love letters over a piano. A heads up, I am hella nervous about how this turned out. I love it, and my ideas behind it, but I honestly felt like I was lacking when it came to actually writing. I've edited this multiple times, and just. Idk. Originally, radio mentions were television but then I remembered many programs stopped broadcasting during the war and production of tv receivers was stopped to conserve resources and such so if you see television mentioned please tell me. :// 
> 
> That being said, I hope this is at least semi-enjoyable!! Also, no major angst for once. Go me.
> 
> Link to the interlude, if you'd like to give it a listen. It's absolutely gorgeous. https://youtube.com/watch?v=KDDAYuoCUIE
> 
> PSA: to clear up any confusion, the morning mentioned in the beginning is after the night mentioned the next two times. It is the only thing that does not occur chronologically. :)
> 
> PPS: I'm sorry if you saw this the first time I posted it... it wasn't working right.  
> 

  


> _My Dearest,_

* * *

_**May 23rd, 1942** _

It's morning.

_No matter how much he hopes it isn't._

And his fingers dig into the wrinkled fabric—holding, _gripping it_ , like a lifeline. 

But it's not enough. 

And he gasps for air, into a pale column of snow. Rough hands run along his back—brown sugar, _small freckles like goddam constellations—_ the backdrop for light pressure. 

He is breaking—not broken. 

—doesn't want this to happen— _this can't happen, isn't possible_ —

But it does. 

And the pressure on his back fades. 

He's only seeing grey. 

'Don't cry.' And a steely disposition cracks, for a moment—along with the other man's voice, a roaring thing conceding to become a whisper, nearly lost in the deafening silence. 'Please, Eren.' 

_And fuck, if he can't help it. It's impossible. Why can't he see that?_

Like a spring leaf mid-rain, his eyes pool—brimming over, pushing past the small breaks in his composure. 

'It's the rain, Levi.'

They are inside. There is no storm. 

And Levi's hand is rough against his cheek— _but Eren would pay any amount of money for it to never leave._

'I'll be comin' home. Real soon.'

Tears litter across Eren's face now—cascading down the length of a pale hand that has created galaxies upon his skin. 

'Make sure you're not lying to me.'

Levi thinks that he's never loved him more—his lips tasting of salt. 

_'Do I seem like the lyin' type to you, Jäger?'_

And Eren smiles. 

It doesn't quite reach his eyes.

* * *

> _I've missed you very, very much since that last night we were together, and I will hold that night especially in my memories for years to come._

* * *

'You're leaving tomorrow?' 

'Yeah.' 

Then he turns to the ground—his long, paled fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers—when he looks up, Eren can just _see_ the indecision in his eyes. 

It's a rare occurrence, and it's eating away at him—corrosive. 

'You know, that I love you. But I won't blame you if you want to end this now, to not wait for me.'

Eren's mind pushes to overdrive—eyes widening, hands extending for the only person he's ever wanted to punch and hold simultaneously until the light of early morning hits his eyelids. 

_And to never let go._

He settles for pushing his lips on Levi's, closing the space between them with record speed. 

Together, they're like a goddamn hurricane.

Arms move around Eren's waist—calloused thumbs rubbing along the fabric over his sides, teeth sinking into his lower lip. 

And then Eren breaks away—hands placed on smaller hips in a viselike grip. His breath is lost, _cracking,_ but audible. 'Please, don't be stupid.'

'I just thought—'

'No, Levi. You didn't think.' Eren's voice is strong—steadfast, determined—like he himself has always been. And Levi melts into him as he speaks, browned fingers moving along, tracing the defined creases in muscle. He can feel Eren's heart racing in his chest—with his head above it, like a metronome with no pace. _Irregular._ 'You didn't think. Because I'm in this with you until the end.' 

'Hopefully that's a long time from now, yeah?'

Eren smiles. 

_'Yeah, Levi. Let's hope so.'_

* * *

> _I've been turning it over and over in my mind lately._

* * *

And Eren isn't sure how he managed to find himself in this position, but _god is he not going to question it_ —with his arms above his head, pinned to the mattress beneath him. 

Levi's lips are on him, everywhere. And it's like a wildfire—blazing in his gut, spreading throughout his body. 

Pale hands are cold, so cold and _so painstakingly slow_ as they release his wrists—sliding along his front, _dare he say reverently_ , before reaching the hem of the crisp white button up he'd worn that day. 

Levi's spreading gasoline with his touch—scorching the skin beneath. Eren's never burned brighter. 

Then he's peeling the fabric from brown skin—doing the same with his trousers, and Eren is bare, but he is not vulnerable. 

—knows he has no reason to be. 

Steel is molten in Levi's eyes, and Eren _knows_ that he loves him—doesn't need the whispered reassurances that Levi is so keen on immersing his ear in at that moment—though it is nice, and he'll never admit to the way it makes him shiver. 

Eren feels himself sink into the mattress beneath— _melting_ —hands moving downward as if they have no other path, to tangle in strands of charcoal. Then he knows the light press of lingering kisses, trailing the path from beneath his navel to the beginnings of creases where thigh meets pelvis. 

His inhale is sharp, and his heart rate increases—hair the color of browning leaves mid-winter spread across the pillow beneath his head. 

_one, two—_ and Eren is choking on his breath— _three._

Legs are wrapping around Levi's waist, and Eren is fucking _gasping,_ in such a way—that Levi allows himself to be pulled downward, chest to chest—running his hands along Eren's sides. 

_Reverently._

And Levi is pushing into him, _and it's so slow, and— fuck._

Eren's arms move around his neck. He holds on tightly, _solid grip_ —as if his life depends on it.

Though, as he moves his hips forward—he supposes that Levi's is the one that does. 

_'Levi, I love you so much and I— shit.'_

Levi's voice is a low roar at his ear, crashing waves against the shore—all he hears, all he ever _wants_ to hear. 

And the drone of Roosevelt's voice in the next room on the old radio won't take that from him. Though, he knows he'll be paying more attention once Levi leaves—praying that his name isn't one of the many read off— _killed in Europe, killed in the Pacific..._

But _god, right there—_ that isn't what Eren wants to think in that moment. 

He focuses on the voice at his ear, and the feeling consuming him with every movement— _moaning out small words and phrases of nothing,_ that in the long run, mean everything—his fingers digging into the back of Levi's neck. 

_'I cherish all the time you've given me, Eren. I love you more than I'd ever hoped to love anyone.'_ And Levi's voice is _cracking—nearly broken,_ consumed in the moment and thought of the next morning, of having to go and leave Eren with a crooked smile on his stupidly beautiful face and—

Eren's legs tighten around his waist as he reaches the end; soon after Levi moving to lay next to him, for once not bothering with the mess. 

And as he lays next to Eren, tracing along the freckles scattered all over his tanned back in infinite numbers—he hopes to create enough galaxies across his skin to last a lifetime. 

After all, he doesn't know if he has that.

* * *

> _I've read your letter through at least four times, and will probably read it more times before I'm through._

* * *

And the piece of paper in hand is one of the only things he has of home—the home that smells like sunflowers and sounds like heaven, no matter the consequence. 

That home he's wishing to get back to, no matter the cost, and no matter what _hell he has to endure—_

Levi barely notices the slight weight on his shoulder—supposes it's unimportant in the grand scheme of things—until someone is speaking, and his attention shifts focus so quickly it gives him some form of mental whiplash. 

He'd much rather be daydreaming—of _him_.

' 'Ey Ackerman, I guess that time at Camp Toccoa never prepared us for this shit.' 

One of the men he's grown to consider a friend sits himself down on the bunk next to him—a sad smile on his face, photograph of his own in hand. 

He is elegant—seems like the type not to utilize language so crass. 

Then, Levi supposes that war changes a lot of people. Maybe for the better—but mostly, for worse. 

And they have no real humor left, and it hasn't even started yet—just sitting on a fucking mountain—waiting for the inevitable call, like a prisoner to the guillotine.

_'I guess bein' in Easy Company ain't so easy after all, Erwin.'_

A large hand slaps him across the back—loud laughter, like the booming clap of thunder permeating the air. 

'Guess not. I miss my family, but if I ended up here due to some misbegotten sense of duty, so be it.' 

And Levi cracks a smile, if only for a moment—turning the letter over in his hands, thinking on eyes the color of leaves turning green mid-spring, and a stupidly gorgeous smile that could brighten up any hellhole. (Or foxhole, which is where he finds himself most likely to be going.)

The smile that he left two years ago—to jump out of some goddamn airplanes. 

'That a letter from your lady, Ackerman?' 

His head turns downward to look at the tattered paper—creases from where he's gripped too hard, small rips from those same incidences littering the page, into a state indicating well use. 

Blotched ink, from where he prays to any god that Eren wasn't crying—his tears falling to the page. 

He doesn't want that.

_'Guess you could say so.'_

* * *

> _
> 
> I've been sitting here, looking at your picture, and getting more homesick every minute. I've wanted that picture more than anything else I know of. Except of course, you yourself. 
> 
> _

* * *

_**June 6, 1944** _ ****

'About 20 minutes, Ackerman.' 

Levi nods. He isn't even listening—hasn't been for the last hour—is wanting to hold that _gorgeous fucking man one last time before he jumps and—_

His thumb is moving along the worn photograph he holds in his hands.

Voice nothing more than broken whisper, lost in the roaring noise of the plane's engine—he speaks, like a crack of lightning, crashing wave. Over all too fast. 

_'I'm gonna make you proud. You're the only person I've ever had and I— please Eren. Don't fuckin' forget, and just—'_

The plane bumps. And Levi is still, dark hair falling to cover eyes that have always been like perpetual storms. 

Eren told him so.

Dirtied fingers caressing the aged black and white of the photo, he smiles—a crooked sort of thing. 

_'Be happy.'_ His lips make contact with the faded man on paper—a goodbye without excess. 

He knows Eren would appreciate that—thinking of him before the inevitable fall. 

_'I'm gonna be home real soon, one way or another. I'm hopin'. '_

And his voice is a low intonation of words—inevitably lost in the cacophony.

* * *

> _
> 
> I keep thinking of you darling, keep wishing I could be home with you. I want to leave in the worse possible way so I can come home to see you. But, things don't look so good in that subject.
> 
> _

* * *

'Last 5 before drop, Ackerman. Make it count.'

And Levi's hands grip the fabric of his uniform—fingers digging into the sides, wishing they were the color of brown sugar, belonging to another individual entirely—hoping for the best. 

He realizes—that all he's ever wanted, he already had. —and he's back in a dingy apartment with curtains meant to be white, faded to an off-yellow. Praying for him to come home.

Levi wants to give that boy everything he's ever wanted. 

_'God, or whatever you want ta' be called, just please let me get through this and see him again.'_

Then Erwin is there—hand on his shoulder, blue eyes gleaming like fragmented glass. 

'You know what they say, Levi. There are no atheists going down with a parachute. We'll all believe in somethin' to get us through.' 

_'Smith, Ackerman. It's time.'_

_'Yes sir.'_

All Levi feels is the bottom drop out.

* * *

> _
> 
> This war has spoiled a lot of things for everyone I guess. I've never been so lonesome in my life as I am right now. I'm completely lost without you darling. 
> 
> _

* * *

His breath is uneven—as it has been every time the announcements begin, hands gripping the couch cushion beneath him, like that will help the situation. 

It's difficult. And he cannot speak of it.

The monotonous voice coming from the radio does nothing to melt the ball of ice formed in his gut—even as the A names are through. _It is not a comfort._

Now, crescents adorn his palms—constellations of a different kind, from blunt nails digging into skin. 

And his lower lip is cracked—bite marks evident, from where his teeth had sunken in unbeknownst to him. _Every time the wait became too much._

Levi's name is not called, and as that minuscule fact sinks into him, Eren exhales a sigh of relief like a geyser—all at once, pouring out as he collapses against the lumpy piece of furniture. 

Levi was always fond of the old couch—said it made the best place for them to sit, and trade stupid kisses that have always made Eren's heart beat like a jazz drum: _'y'know Eren? The slow kind, where we ain't got nothin' better to do besides be with one another. Not like I have anythin' I'd want to do besides that, anyways.'_

And Eren can nearly hear the varying tones of Levi's voice at his ear—surrounding him like a warm spring rain, and finishing him off like the gales of a thunderstorm. 

_'Hey, Eren. Remember me, yeah?'_

That night he falls into bed—hands burning, skin of his fingertips peeling back from long hours. 

The war's been hard on everyone.

Yet, all he can do is whisper empty promises into an unchanging silence. 

_'I will.'_

* * *

> _
> 
> I never realized I could even miss any one person so much. I just hope it won't be too much longer till I'm able to be with you again. 
> 
> _

* * *

_'Oh my god, Eren! That's so stupid.'_

_Levi is smiling like tomorrow came promised—his hand gripping Eren's tightly._

_And he's leaning forward, so close now, eyes closed. Eren can smell the slight musk as he falls into the impending kiss—and it's perfect, so fucking perfect. Levi's lips taste like bitter liquor and sweet honey—a combination Eren finds he wants burning his throat—consuming him—and it's all he could ask for in that moment—_

But he has to wake up. 

And he's screaming—or at least he feels as though he is, or has been—maybe run too many miles, parched like the Sahara—with broken limbs and battered body. Throat aching, eyes burning. 

His fists pound into the mattress beneath him. 

He is weak.

And alone—though he supposes it shouldn't come as a shock, that he's cracking now.

'You, you asshole!' 

His head falls to the pillow. It doesn't smell like Levi anymore. 

There's no evidence it had been real. 

And this was inevitable—the breakdown, crumbling like archaic walls.

'What'd you have to go and leave me all alone for, huh?'

It's like a cloudburst—streams stemming from the creases of his eyes, bleeding out to the fabric beneath. 

'Why'd you... Why'd you go?'

And his voice is too loud— _far too loud_ —for the apartment that once held _him_ in it. 

He feels small. 

_'Come home.'_ Eren's words are to chipped paint of the ceiling—a dull grey color. _'This bed's too big for just me, anyways.'_

* * *

> _
> 
> And live a sane and normal life.
> 
> _

* * *

_**August 9, 1945** _

Eren sees the plane touch down. 

And he doesn't really process it all—can't believe this is happening. 

Everything is surreal—heart like a horse's hooves trampling the ground beneath, hands shaking with the wind that doesn't exist. 

Then the door drops down. 

And _he's_ stepping out. 

And he's running.

_They're both running._

It's a collision.

_A goddamn explosion that takes their breath away._

But as Eren wraps his long arms around him, Levi knows one thing.

And it's all that matters. 

_I'm home._

  


**Author's Note:**

> that name drop tho. Let me know what you think!! :)  
> 


End file.
